The Potter
The potter's wheel
Old and cracked,
Still turns as its spirit
Fires creation.
Sculptor of love
Labors with clay
Searching for beauty
In imperfect features
That tell a life's story.
Gentle hands, rough and worn,
Seek a soul in mire and slush
Giving spirit to humble substance
Patiently molding, pursuing perfection,
But leaving that flaw
That summons humility.
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